


Smile

by spinsters_grave



Series: Voltron Angst Week 2k17 [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (It's a day early yeah but I'm gone tomorrow, (aka 'nothing in this can fit in canon it's okay it's not actually gonna happen'), Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Pain and Suffering, Description of an injury, Gen, Voltron Angst Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 06:43:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10634421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinsters_grave/pseuds/spinsters_grave
Summary: A Duchenne smile is the only smile that portrays genuine happiness. Shiro used to be able to fake it, but nowadays, all he can summon is a smile that tries to be reassuring.(Alt Title: A Better Man)(Alt Alt Title: High Flight)





	

“Takashi Shirogane,” Allura said. “I wish you had been a better man.”

 

She left Shiro sitting there, bleeding out. Her face twisted in contempt, and her fists clenched around her staff in what Shiro was pretty sure was hate. She abruptly turned on her heel and stepped away, refusing to look back.

 

Shiro tilted his head back and felt around his wound. He touched ragged flesh and winced.

 

He heard footsteps, rapid, and for a second he thought it was Allura again, but that changed when he heard a distinctly masculine,  _ “Shiro!” _

 

Shiro was starting to feel the hurt. It seemed like they were in the clear for now- Allura and her paladins were clearing out, there weren’t any of Haggar’s soldiers anywhere near.

 

It was just him, Keith, and the dead planet.

 

Keith knelt down at Shiro’s side and made a grab for his hand. “Shiro? Shiro, what happened?”

 

Shiro tried to get up and failed, his stomach clenching. He grunted. “I got hurt.”

 

Keith took in a sharp breath. “I can see that. Look, it’ll be fine-You’ll be fine. We’ll- I’ll get medical supplies. Don’t go anywhere!”

 

Keith bounded up, and hesitated for a moment, worry written plainly on his face. Shiro grinned at him weakly. “I’ll be fine if you get supplies. Go.”

 

Keith nodded. He turned sharply on his heel and started running- almost like Allura, but faster. Like he had more motivation.

 

Shiro closed his eyes and clamped his hand around his side. It hurt- it burned at the edges. The middle section—Shiro didn’t really want to think about how it hurt—was extremely sensitive. He cupped his hand and tried not to touch it, barely letting himself linger above the wound.

 

It was always his side. Shiro was hit by Haggar’s… claw… magic. Thing. On his side. This didn’t hurt any less, but this time he didn’t have a pod to heal him. On the other hand, this time the wound wasn’t magical. A true flesh and blood injury. It almost didn’t make sense—Allura was capable of magic. Shiro wanted to think that she just hadn’t wanted to hurt him like that. She probably just forgot.

 

Keith came back. Shiro didn’t notice until he was almost upon him, stumbling just the slightest. A roll of gauze dropped from Keith’s bundle and rolled across the floor, bouncing off of Shiro’s leg.

 

Shiro spared a quick glance for it. It was such a little thing, the gauze, and the problem it created was so little compared to the gaping wound in his side. Keith dropped to his knees at Shiro’s side. He was breathing hard, but Shiro didn’t know if it was from running so fast or from panic. 

 

Shiro gave him his best smile anyways. It couldn’t hurt. “Keith?”

 

Keith didn’t look up from the supplies in his lap. “Yeah?”

 

“Look at me real quick,” Shiro said, trying to sound gentle. It didn’t help that his lungs weren’t working as fast as his heart.

 

Keith looked up at Shiro through his eyelashes. It was pretty, but at the same time, Shiro was gravely hurt. Keith didn’t say anything.

 

“It’s going to be okay,” Shiro said, trying to relax his face into something gentle and reassuring. It seemed to work for a moment as Keith held Shiro’s gaze. Then Shiro’s wound throbbed, and he winced, and Keith’s face widened in panic. Shiro coughed and tried to wave Keith back to the medical supplies. He wasn’t above admitting he needed help.

 

Keith’s hands shook a little bit as he gently moved Shiro’s hand away from his wound. Shiro tensed under the scalding wind, but he didn’t cover his wound. Keith had to do what he had to do. 

 

Keith’s hands were ice cold against his side. It felt nice.

 

Then he poured something like peroxide on the wound, and it  _ seared  _ into his  _ flesh. _ It burned like boiling oil popping and hissing on his skin. Shiro clenched his teeth around a scream, but he couldn’t stop a small whistle from getting out. Keith’s head snapped up to look at Shiro, hesitation pushing his shoulders up to his ears. “It’s for infection,” he said, “but I can stop if it’s too bad—”

 

“No, no,” Shiro grunted. “Keep going—I’m fine.”

 

Keith’s forehead creased. Shiro couldn’t tell if it was worry or something else. He gave Keith his best smile, again, just in case.

 

That crease between his eyebrows stayed. Shiro wanted to smooth it over with his thumb, but his arms ached at the idea of it.

 

“Don’t lie about how much it hurts,” Keith said. Shiro’s smile slowly fell from his face. “It’ll only make it hurt more. You need to be honest with me, Takashi.”

 

There was a moment of silence, where Keith’s hands stilled and Shiro let a small smirk grow on his face. Keith blushed and ducked his head back down to work on his task. “Shut up,” he muttered. 

 

“I didn’t say anything,” Shiro said. His wound burned a little less.

 

“I was talking to myself,” Keith said flippantly. “But you too. Get that smirk off your face.”

 

Shiro acted offended, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “This is a genuine smile, Keith.”

 

Keith snorted. “Shut up and let me bind your wound.” He pulled the ends of the gauze— Shiro hadn’t realized Keith was winding tape around his body.

 

And very suddenly, Shiro couldn’t breathe.

 

He doubled over, gasping for breath. The ends of the gauze fluttered to the ground when Keith abandoned them to hover over Shiro’s back, saying, “Shiro? Shiro?”

 

Shiro placed a hand on his sternum and ignored the sudden, sharp burn in his side. He tried to gasp,  _ I’m fine, I’m okay, _ but he couldn’t find the breath.

 

A memory floated to the front of Shiro’s mind, of his high school wrestling team. He saw his coach showing off a move that left his demonstration breathless.

 

“Can you breathe, Bradley?” Coach asked.

 

There was a beat, while the rest of the team waited for a response. It was tense, and Shiro craned his neck to see.

 

Bradley croaked out a small, “Nope.”

 

Coach chuckled. “Yes, you can. If you can speak, you can breathe.” He kept Bradley pinned for a second longer, until Bradley pounded the mat. They broke apart, Coach and the rest of the team laughing lightly.

 

Shiro came back to himself, doubled over and gasping for breath. He was dimly aware of hands fumbling at his side.

 

He knew he was screwed. He kept gulping for air, all while knowing it was futile.  _ If you can speak, you can breathe, _ but Shiro couldn’t say a word.

 

He started to hear buzzing, interspaced with  _ “Takashi-” “-fuck, fuck, fuck-” “-please, Takashi-” _ in constant succession. It flickered in and out, hollowed out and fighting for clarity. When his vision started to vignette, he knew he had moved well beyond ‘screwed’ and was well on his way into ‘fucked.’ 

 

“For fuck’s sake, Takashi, stop  _ moving _ so I can  _ fix _ your binding!” Keith yelled. The vice around his chest loosened ever so slightly, and  _ finally  _ Shiro could breathe again. His chest heaved, pain momentarily forgotten in favor of devouring the air. He didn’t want to waste a single molecule of oxygen. He filled his lungs as much as he could, then pushed it all out so he could get another lungful.

 

Keith pulled away and let Shiro gasp for breath. Shiro lent a small corner of his mind to Keith and their situation, but the majority of his thoughts were occupied by the desperate need to  _ breathe. _

 

Finally,  _ finally _ , he had enough. Shiro vowed that he’d never,  _ ever _ , take anything for granted ever again.

 

He gingerly leaned back. His pain returned in vengeance. He couldn’t stop his hand from clutching it, trying to stop the gauze from falling. Keith sat back on his heels, white as a ghost—he didn’t want to even  _ touch _ Shiro, not after- God, that had been terrible.

 

Shiro grimaced and tied the ends of the gauze himself. He knew his limits now.

 

Keith took in a deep breath, and exhaled as he hesitantly said, “Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth…”

 

_ Are you okay?  _ Keith was asking. Shiro knew this poem. He and Keith memorized it, just for something to do together. It had developed into a ‘them’ thing; it was a ‘them’ where they would say it to each other for something to be alright. For normality. For being okay. 

 

“And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings,” he said. “Sunwards I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth-”  _ I’m okay, _ he said,  _ I’m alright. _

 

“Of sun-split clouds, and done a hundred things you have not dreamed of,” Keith continued. He let a small smile cross his face. “Wheeled and soared and swung high in the sunlit silence.” 

 

Shiro liked their poem. It was all about freedom, and flying—two things Shiro and Keith needed. He leaned back and let a small smile flicker across his own face for just a second. “Hovering there I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung my eager craft through footless halls of air… up, up the long, delirious, burning blue, I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace where never lark or even eagle flew- and, while with silent lifting mind, I've trod the high untrespassed sanctity of space, put out my hand, and touched the face of God.”

 

There was a moment. “All good?” he wheezed, turning his head to look at Keith.

 

Keith lowered his hands very slowly. “Yeah,” he said. He visibly steeled himself. “Can you move?”

 

Their poem was quoted by Ronald Reagan, Shiro remembered, in a speech after a great space tragedy. Fitting. Shiro wondered what Reagan would say if he could see the space program today. If he could see their lions. 

 

Shiro tried to twist his torso and found that he could, albeit with pain and a wince. The burn in his side lessened after he realized how easy it would be to die. Nothing could have prepared him for the burning in his chest, and nothing could compare. He nodded at Keith and sat up straighter.

 

Keith put his hands on his knees and pushed himself to his feet. “Great. Here, I’ll help you up.”

 

He hooked his hands underneath Shiro’s armpits and hoisted Shiro up. He tried to pull away, but Shiro wavered on his feet, and Keith quickly dived back to make Shiro lean on him.

 

Shiro’s steps were a little unsteady, and breathing was still harsh and uneven. His side still hurt. And he still heard a buzzing in his ears. But that was okay. He was fine. He pasted a smile over his grimace, walked, and touched the face of God.

  
  


END

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet was partially inspired by John Gillespie Magee, an aviator who served in the Royal Canadian Air Force and wrote the poem 'High Flight'. ( http://www.davidpbrown.co.uk/poetry/john-magee.html )  
> Shiro and Keith quoted this to each other. The poem is famous for being quoted by Ronald Reagan, Orson Wells, and other famous people, is the official poem of the Royal Canadian Air Force, and must be memorized and recited by fourth-year cadets of the US Air Force Academy.
> 
> Ey-o shoutout to @geewillikers for being a wonderful beta-reader and incredible author!
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated!


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